"Now, choose one of them, son."Cyron said.
The members of the Runcandel family turned their gazes once more—this time not toward Jin, but his twin.
Jarden Runcandel.
They had shown curiosity. Some had watched him as an oddity, others with cautious interest. But now, the real test began.
They were all eager to see what kind of sword the second youngest child of the house would select. Whether it would mirror Jin's path… or carve a legend of its own.
As the silence deepened, Jarden began to crawl forward.
There was no previous memory of the ritual to guide him. In his past life on Earth, he had read about Jin's moment—seen fan theories, illustrations, endless commentary.
But never this.
This version of reality had no precedent.
Ugh.
It was more exhausting than expected. A 1-year-old's body obeyed reluctantly, muscles resisting the sharp mind that drove them. Even with a retained memory and strategic thought, crawling through a field of weapons was grueling.
'The blade is here. I felt it call to me in my dreams. I need to reach it—before someone decides I'm not meant to choose anything at all.'
Badump. Badump.
His heart pounded.
But not with fear—with recognition.
He passed simple swords. Twinblades. Greatswords. Ornate ceremonial sabers. He crawled past coins, books, and test trinkets left as decoys.
Each item he ignored made the gathered siblings stir uneasily.
'Is he avoiding everything?'
One blade stood at the edge of the weapon circle. It was slender, silver-black, with a spiral core and a flickering hue that seemed to shift between steel and shadow. The hilt was carved from ancient ironwood, wrapped in faded cloth that looked too old to belong here.
It hadn't been placed by any servant.
No one recognized it.
The elders squinted.
The siblings tilted their heads.
Even Rosa frowned in mild confusion.
Only Cyron's eyes narrowed—not in confusion, but in remembrance.
Jarden crawled toward the weapon—eyes locked on it with eerie focus.
The moment his hand touched the hilt, the sword pulsed with a low, humming sound that echoed through the marble beneath them.
Shadow crept outward in a ring.
And yet—no blood was spilled.
No cut. No pain.
Only silence… and recognition.
Jarden had touched Ryyuzin Zaka.
A spirit weapon.
A name long erased from clan records.
Older than Barisada.
Precursor to Temar's awakening.
A blade once wielded in the Runcandel pre-dynasty days, when spirit-swords walked beside mortals in war.
The sword had vanished from history—sealed, buried, or simply forgotten.
Until now.
"Ryyuzin Zaka…" Cyron murmured, voice barely audible.
Every head turned to him.
He stared at Jarden—not with shock, but with a weight that made even Rosa still.
"That sword once belonged to the shadow herald of the clan," he said slowly. "It has never answered a child. Not in seven generations."
A few servants dropped their gazes.
A few siblings clenched their jaws.
And Utahame, standing silently behind the hall's pillars, closed her eyes and whispered something ancient to the winds.
"The ritual is over. And bring Jarden… to the Inner Sanctum."
Cyron's order carried no question.
Because while Jin had chosen Barisada—the sword of authority—Jarden had awakened something older.
Something the clan had forgotten.
But the blade remembered him.
The ceremony had ended.
But silence didn't mean peace.
Jin sat wrapped in ceremonial cloth, lips lightly pursed. His fingers, still bandaged from gripping Barisada, twitched occasionally. The founder's sword pulsed faintly in its place—a relic of legacy, not just steel.
But what truly unsettled him wasn't his own pain.
It was the blade his twin had touched.
Ryyuzin Zaka.
Even with fragmented knowledge of ancient Runcandel myths, Jin had never heard the name. And yet when the weapon pulsed, his skin prickled with unease. It hadn't bled Jarden. It had answered him. In silence. In shadow.
Jin glanced sideways at the cradle beside him.
Jarden's eyes were calm. Not smug. Not vacant. Just... watching.
He knew what he was doing. That was no accidental selection.
Across the hall, Cyron stood unmoving. But his silence was heavier now—less ceremonial, more contemplative. At last, he turned and spoke only to Utahame.
"Jin chose the Founder's sword. And Jarden chose Ryyuzin Zaka."
Cyron spoke in a solemn tone.
A few people were cheering in joy, and a few others were trying their best to hide their displeasure.
This was what the Runcandel superstition was about.
"The ritual is over. And bring Jin to the Storm Castle."
"Utahame and Jarden Follow me."
Rosa frowned. "You're taking him to the Inner Sanctum?"
Cyron didn't answer.
Utahame bowed gently, cradling Jarden in her arms. She followed her lord without words. No servant dared intercept. No sibling dared question.
Inside the Inner Sanctum – Later That Night
The stone doors closed behind them with a muffled boom.
Ancient weapons hung in silent reverence. Scrolls embedded in crystal lined the walls. It was a place not even most swordmasters knew existed.
Cyron placed one hand on the obsidian pedestal and lowered his voice.
"That blade should not have appeared."
Utahame didn't flinch. "It returned because he was ready."
Cyron's gaze hardened. "It was sealed for a reason. Ryyuzin Zaka answers only to death-born spirits—those touched by non-lineage fate."
"He was touched," she replied. "By regret. By knowledge of a world that no longer exists. But also by resolve."
Cyron looked at Jarden—now sleeping, his breath slow but steady.
"I see no chaos in him."
"You won't. Not yet."
Cyron exhaled once—sharp and rare.
"If Barisada speaks of rule…"
"Ryyuzin Zaka speaks of rewriting."
Elsewhere — Jin's Chambers
Ginny dabbed a cloth across Jin's forehead, humming gently.
But Jin was wide awake.
'That sword… whatever it was… it changed something.'
He had returned to this world to carve out the future he was denied.
But now, there was another blade beside him. Equal in power. Rooted in mystery.
And wielded—no, accepted—by his twin.
For the first time in this new life… Jin didn't feel like the sole protagonist.
He felt the gravity of rivalry.
Not out of hatred.
Not from jealousy.
But from the knowledge that fate had now split into two roads.
And he didn't know where either of them led.